_Amer. Museum_, VII, Jan.-June 1790, Appendix I-42, Phila.
Mistaken youth! thy love, to frenzy wrought, Spurn'd calm reflection and each sober thought. A little time had shewn e'en Charlotte's charms Had shrunk and faded in a Werter's arms: For guilt and meanness ne'er could dwell with thee; And virtuous friendship soon had set thee free. But hadst thou triumph'd o'er the fair one's fall, Thou then, as now, hadst met the fatal ball; Still keener anguish had attack'd thy mind Than e'en now dying thy stung soul did find. None dare say Mercy wont extend its aid; } But who of that would not have been afraid, } If with a kiss thou Charlotte hadst betray'd. }
_Universal Asylum and Columbian Mag._, V-269, Oct. 1790, Phila.
_Mass. Mag._, III-114, Feb. 1791, Boston.
[Also in _Amer. Museum_, I-474, May 1787, Phila.]
History says that Sivard, King of Sweden, entered Norway with a numerous army, and committed the greatest enormities; but was at last overthrown, his army routed, and himself slain by one of those women whom he had brutally abused.
Between Norwegian hills wide spreads a plain, By nature form'd for sport; The Vet'ran warrior here, and hardy swain, To annual games resort.
High o'er their heads was hung the hoary brow, Which cast an ample shade; From thence these words majestic seem'd to flow-- "Fierce foes your sports invade!"
They upward gaze--a warrior struck their sight; He bore aloft his lance, All sheath'd in arms, unsufferably bright, Where beamy splendors dance.
The western sun-beam round his helmit flies, He more than man appears; And more than mortal seem'd to sound the voice That rang upon their ears.
"Ye sons of Norway! harken to my tale, "Your rural games oh cease; "Sivard is marching thro' Dulvellon's vale, "Break off the sports of peace!
"The bloody Sivard leads his conqu'ring Swedes, "He riots in our shame; "The man, the matron, and the infant bleeds-- "Norway is but a name!
"The husband sees--curse on the tyrant's lust-- "He sees his beauteous bride-- "Her virtue, worth, and honor in the dust-- "Oh where is Norway's pride!
"Rouse! rouse Norwegians! take your arms amain, "Let helms o'ershade each brow; "Let's meet these Swedish dæmons in the plain, "And lay their triumphs low.